The Past…
Neville could only just stand there, alone in a crowd, utterly shattered.
He was watching a broken Hagrid carry Harry's body out in a macabre procession of giddy Death Eaters gallivanting out of the Forest already celebrating their apparent eminent victory. And he had nothing.
He had no words. No fight. No fire, no light left in him.
This wasn't supposed to be.
This was wrong.
Neville couldn't take his eyes away from his good friend's corpse, laid out like a broken doll. From the condition of it, apparently those sick bastards decided that It wasn't enough to kill him but they had to further disrespect him. To dishonor the dead, all for their sickening pleasure.
Those deplorable filth, subhuman offal. They had mutilated him, carving twisted messages into his dead flesh. He was missing parts of an arm and a leg as well, apparently slapdash dismemberment was not a bridge too far.
They had left his face intact though. Clearly so that the fallen chosen one could be accurately identifiable by both his murderers and his survivors. So they could see his fate and be terrified.
Neville wasn't terrified though. He was a lot of things, but terrified wasn't one of them.
Neville swallowed the rising bile in his throat. He heard Hermione's broken grief, her crying out for her Harry with palpably desperate sorrow, but it was like she was miles away underwater, not just over his shoulder.
Neville couldn't breathe, his mind frozen, blank. He wanted to scream, to cry, to curse someone or something until they begged to eat the Death they named themselves for, to huddle up under the covers and wish this day away with all his magical might.
Neville was lost, adrift. Trapped in a dissociative cocoon of nihilistic apathy, he'd somewhat checked out of things for the moment.
Voldemort was talking to Neville, but it was no matter. The bastard was demanding something or other of him or whatever. Likely his abject surrender or his total capitulation, perhaps. Could've been to borrow some brown sugar or a pair of worn sandals, for all Neville cared.
Neville's responses were what he believed he was suppose to say, but he had no fire burning in him right now. His words were absentmindedly rote, mostly vestigial defiance left over from an entire year spent rebelling against anything that was Him. But he felt just as dead as Harry was.
They shoved the Sorting Hat on his head for some reason or another. The Hat's voice did jar him out of his malaise. He blinked dumbly under the hat while his memories played catch-up.
"I'm okay now, Mr Hat." Neville looked down, sighing exasperated. "Sorry… for freaking out there."
"Ah, that's good, good to hear. And you have nothing to apologize for, my boy. It's been a doozy of a year after all. You did have quite a shock there."
Neville swallowed. "Not much of a Gryffindor, huh?" His voice was cracked, shaken in a way he hadn't heard in years.
Neville heard the Hat sigh. "Dear Neville, if I may be so bold…" at Neville's nod, the Hat continued. "Let me let you on a little secret."
Intrigued in spite of himself, Neville leaned in. The Hat paused, "the sorting is merely suggestive, not descriptive."
Neville wrinkled his brow. "What do you mean?"
The Hat paused again. "How best to put this succinctly? Oh, remembered exactly to whom I'm speaking. Sprout's wee favorite misplaced prize, yes?"
Neville briefly blushed at the thought of his favorite class and professor. In some ways, she'd become the mother he never had.
The Hat chortled. "Yes, yes, you know she adores you as one of hers, but I digress. A sorting is similar to a gardener arranging his prized garden or greenhouse. My role is to not just identify each 'plant' for who and what they are but also which environment that particular 'plant' would potentially thrive in."
Neville nodded along, fascinated. He could feel the Hat smiling at him, somehow. "In your case, much like your good friends Mr Potter, Ms Granger, Ms Weasley and Ms Lovegood there, you possess traits of all four houses."
Neville blinked. "I do? They do?"
The Hat chuckled. "Yes, to varying degrees of course. But the bottom line is that they each could've easily be placed elsewhere. Much like in your case, they and I each made the choice in service of who they are as well as what they want to be. In essence, together we picked the garden that is mostly like to help them thrive. Much like you and I did, dear Neville. And thrive you have. Have no doubt."
Neville flushed again. "Thank you for saying that."
"You are more than welcome. Indeed, you have thrived in the House of the Lions. And you have done so even while cultivating those other traits. Like your diligence, your fairness, your wit." The Hat smirked. "This year certainly developed your cunning as well, did it not."
Neville's eyes widened. He had never realized. He suddenly laughed, finally understanding what the House System was meant to be.
The Hat smiled, "good, good. Now you are ready for what you need to do."
Neville blinked. "Eh?"
The Hat's smirk grew righteous. "Riddle and his sycophants believe we are here to resort you all into a cruel bastardization of Sal's House, but Hogwarts and I have other plans. Plans that we believe you might richly enjoy, given how you've vigorously spent your 7th year."
"Oh?" Neville felt a righteously vindictive grin emerging on his face. "Please, do tell."
There was quiet in the courtyard. Everyone seemed to be waiting with baited breath, wanting to see if the Hat would bow to Voldemort as well.
The moment stretched for one beat, and then another, and then another.
Finally, a slow chuckle started bubbling up, drenched in malice and ill intent. Everyone reeled back at once, then they all instinctively turned toward Voldemort only to see him just as shocked as they were.
As the laughter grew louder, everyone shuddered to realize it was coming from the Hat and the boy wearing it.
At that moment, Neville stood up, still wearing the Hat, who simply gazed over the crowd with a dark smirk. Neville noticed none of this; he was too busy glaring at the inner circle, fueled by righteous wrath; his wand in one hand, the Sword of Gryffindor in the other.
Neville scowled at Voldemort, scoffing at the Lestranges just over their Lord's shoulder. He also noticed Voldemort's Snake moving toward him in a rushing ambush. Without pausing, he swirled the blade before decapitating that cursed serpent with a callous regard. The unholy scream of the dying beast was only matched by the shocked anguish of the Dark Lord in a gloriously macabre duet.
And then, there was silence. No one moved, no one breathed.
Except him.
Neville stepped forward, wand in one hand, bloodied blade in the other. "Dumble- Wait- No-" he paused, shaking his head, as everyone looked at him and blinked. Neville looked up, looked at Harry, looked back at Hermione, at Ginny. and just Knew.
He raised his weapon high. "Potter's Army, defend our home! Attack!"
The roar he heard in response was righteous, epic, defiant. Beautiful.
…the Present
"…This is bollocks." A Snatcher sentry named Collins glanced around halfhearted, absently kicking a loose pebble off the porch.
The pounding rain seemingly worsening his mood. He kicked another rock, watching it fly off into the distant dark, the autumnal storm drowning out any sounds of violent impact, no matter how cathartic it might've been.
He rustled his jacket in front of him, huffing exasperated. "This wasn't our bloody duty night, Braithwaite. How we get stuck alone on watch for a bloody empty house during such absolute shite weather, anyway?"
The other sentry, the aforementioned Braithwaite, casually smoked his cigarillo, leaning against the pillar. He watched his partner's antics with mild amusement. "You might want to watch yourself, there guy. Tiles pretty slick, here."
"What're you, me bloody mum?" Collins jammed his hand back in his pocket, fumbling for his wand to cast yet another warming charm.
Braithwaite shrugged, kept smoking, totally unbothered. "Never mind, then. Mr big man."
Collins stared at him then deliberately kicked at another one, just to prove his point. Unfortunately for him, he missed badly when his plant foot slipped on a wet spot, his slip becoming a vaudeville tumble that crashed him backward into the wall nearest the entry door. "Uhhh…" He could hold his head in both hands, squinting and blinking as he slowly slid down to the ground.
Braithwaite snickered quietly. "You about done over there, slapstick?" Another groan was the only answer. The snickers progressed to a barely stifled belly laugh.
"Oi! Oh, bugger you, mate." Collins squinted up at his good friend. "If I wasn't seeing 3 of you pissants, I'd give you something to chortle about to your wee little heart's content, that's for bloody sure."
Braithwaite's laughter increased. "Too right, that. Bloke like you? Just look at me over here, shaking I am, swear to Merlin." Braithwaite held out a perfectly still empty hand. "Oh, sorry, about that boyo. My mistake."
Collins sighed. "Whatevers. Just… just help me up, would ya guv?"
Braithwaite put the cig between his teeth and reached out to Collins, grasping him by the forearm, lifting him with a casual ease.
Collins shook the rest of the cobwebs out. "Seriously, though, mate. How did we stuck doing this… this… bloody buggering curtain twitch today?" He shook his head again, flaring his nose like a bull, then froze. Collins turned to peer closer at the second. "Wait. You know something."
Braithwaite looked at him, unfurling a darkly amused half smile. He shrugged with affected nonchalance. "Well, you know fearless Leader."
Collins' eyes lit up. "Yeah." He snorted. "Pillock's fucking lucky he's related to a Circle member, he is." Collins shook his head in amused disgust. "Bloody barely knows his head from his arse." He smirked suddenly. "Hey. Remember when he came back from that raid all a sweaty panic, swearing he saw the Bloody Thrice chasing him down just off Knockturn. Turned out to be a pack of feral kneazles having a turf war with some crups?"
Braithwaite chortled around his cig. "Oh. That was hilarious." He shook his head in memory. "The look on Scabior's face." He exhaled, getting his laugh under control. "Lost a safe house in all that ruckus, we did."
Collins snickered. "Bet he had to do a lot of fast talking Upstream to finesse his way outta that one."
Braithwaite smirked knowingly. "You don't know the half of it."
Collins peered at him, sensing a story. "Oh really? Well, do tell."
"Well. You remember that posh half-muddy bird he brought back last shift?" His look sharpened into a deviant's smirk.
"Oh, you mean, the one with the…" Collins' eyes glazed over for a bit, face slightly flushed.
"Yeah, those." Braithwaite waggled his brows.
"Yeah, so what about her? Isn't she gone upstream by now? Or on her way back home, if I remember right. Thought her blood traitor daddy actually paid up in full, didn't he?"
Braithwaite's smirk turned more sinister. "Well, yes. He did pay out, plus some extras. So, ordinarily… You'd be right. Ordinarily."
Collins cocked his head. "Ordinarily?"
Braithwaite grinned and tilted his head toward the house. "She's in the back bedroom upstairs, wrapped up all special, like a Yule present."
Collins gaped in appreciative amazement. "But.."
Braithwaite had a canary eating grin. "Like you said, Fearless Leader had a spot of bother with the big boys upstream, but I got him clear. Favor for a favor for favor kinda dealie, all right? So, smoothed things over tout sweet."
Braithwaite's grin turned sly. "So, now Fearless Leaser owed me, so I wangled him into a spot, or two. Got to call bagsy on that fair lass, amongst other boons to be named later." He leaned back, putting out another ring of smoke while he reminisced. "He still tried to pull a fast one, so I let him think he did a bit." He shrugged. "This duty swap was part of it, but I got something else pretty good for it too anyway."
Braithwaite waved off the inquiring look. "Tell you more later." He puffed another ring. "Sorry I dragged you in without a heads up, but it happened quick," he leered at Collins. "Plus, figured you wouldn't mind."
Collins guffawed. "Mind, he says." Their grins matched. Collins offered a hand to Braithwaite who shook it jovially."
"Job well done, there, mate. Well done indeed."
Braithwaite smirked. "Why thank you, good sir." He tilted a nonexistent cap at him. "Much obliged." They chuckled amicably. "Now, all we got to do is wait for him to get back, and bob's your uncle."
Collins sighed appreciatively. "Yeah, that's the rub, innit?" He pulled out his pocket watch, sighing in exasperation at first. Until it seemed to click.
Collins swallowed, narrowing his eyes as he eyed the time. He gulped, adjusting his collar. "So. Umm… They've been gone awhile, yeah?"
Braithwaite shrugged, pursing his lips at Collins' obvious anxiety, rolling his eyes. "Might've been some bigger game than he'd thought? Taboo was tripped and all. Could be… profitable." He shrugged. "Even still, shouldn't be more than a bit of bother for them, even if it's more fish in the barrel than expected."
Collins twisted his mouth, "…maybe."
Braithwaite stared at him, "wait, what?" He looked at Collins, head cocked to the side. "What are you worried about? Fearless Leader went bloody mob-handed, he's got a full crew and all, there's no real threats out there, well except for the Potter's Army rabble, but they don't hunt Snatchers like us, right?"
Collins bit his lip, then shook his head agreeably, but kept looking furtively away. Braithwaite twisted his face in confusion, then he suddenly scowled. "Wait… Oh, come off it. You don't think… the Bloody Thrice?" He scoffed. "It's a bloody made up spook story! It's not even worth printing in the bloody Quibbler, as rubbish as that rag was."
Collins gave him a look. "Something's been happening, tis'all I'm saying." He looked off again into the night and sniffed.
Braithwaite recoiled in confused disbelief. "Not to that lackwit it hasn't."
Collins raised a bow at that, then shook his head smiling slightly. "True." He stilled. "But more than a couple squads have been hit. Hard. Almost no survivors, but any that do have the same story."
Braithwaite scoffed again. "Bollocks." He stubbed out his first cig, lighting up another in one motion. "Obvious what happened, right?" He puffed out 3 small rings in idle succession. "First guy got spooked, likely his first time facing enemy wands, so he panicked, ran away from a Potter's Army attack, left his mates in the lurch." He pointed at Collins with the lit cig. "Couldn't come out and say that, now could he, so what he do?" He put the cig back in his mouth, taking a slow drag.
Braithwaite looked at Collins sideways before puffing put another smoke ring, larger this time. "He made up some 'scary' story about an invincible mud-blood monster bitch, who spared his sorry arse, left him alive to 'tell the tale'." He waved his hands dismissively. "Rubbish." He smirked, holding the cig in his teeth. "Now, as for tonight? It's unlikely there was any real problem with the crew or nothing. Certainly not from some false phantom or made up monster."
Braithwaite snickered around his cig. "Our Fearless Leader just probably got 'delayed' because he doesn't want to pay up what he owes. Bet he thinks I'll forget or maybe screw up and have to renege and leave him in the clear or something. That sodding arse always thinks he's brilliant, thinks he can finesse folk like he's a Malfoy working old Fudge for kicks and kickbacks."
Collins tilted his head, considering. "Yeah, you right."
Braithwaite snorted. "Of course I am." He puffed out another ring. "Now, let's get off this tired topic. And onto another… perhaps that buxom sweet treat for Afters that's waiting for us upstairs, hmm?
Collins flashed a devilish grin. He began bouncing with naked anticipation. "Now I'm really-"
"That's about enough of that, I believe." A third voice, quite feminine, chilling as a wintry graveyard, suddenly chimed in from nowhere.
Before either could even think to blink, a pair of dainty delicate hands suddenly appeared. They reached out of a shadow, grabbing Collihs' head and chin on opposite sides before wrenching it in one overpowering movement.
The loudly cascading snap of the neck and shattering of his spine echoed like a firework, disturbingly harmonized with the resonant roaring thunder, as if the heavens already co-signed her actions in triplicate.
One moment, Collins was alive, suddenly he was dead. And Braithwaite knew he was next.
Braithwaite dropped his cig from his gaping mouth his shaking hands fumbling for his wand, face paling, eyes frantic. A sudden crackle of cacophonous lightning overhead made him jump with a frightful squeak, his wand fumbled, dropping from trembling fingers.
In the flash's afterimages, he could see something quite odd. It was a slip of a girl, bushy brown hair, still strikingly pretty in a leather duster. Hard to believe it was she who had just casually broke his friend like he was nothing more than a Muggle Christmas cracker. The bizarre incongruity almost shattered him.
His shock beginning to wear off, Braithwaite's hand grasped down toward at his fallen wand, only to receive a quicksilver backslap that knocked him tumbling upward into the porch pillar. He distantly heard his wand dropping to the tile, rolling far enough to be out of easy reach. He had just enough to lament that fact, before the telltale sign of a heel snapping said wand under a boot stole any remaining hope from him.
Braithwaite whimpered, panicked. He felt himself being grabbed by his scruff by an extraordinarily strong hand that lifted him effortlessly before slamming him back into that pillar once more, the thumping's timing matched with the thundering storm once more.
"By the by, 3 points of interest: number 1," she held up a pointer finger. "Your 'fearless leader' friend that you often mentioned earlier?
I'm sorry to inform that he isn't going to make it back, I'm afraid. Neither will the rest of his fetid pack of sniveling vermin, for that matter." She shrugged casually, eerily at ease, making Braithwaite even more unsettled.
"And that reminds me," she snapped her fingers. "Point 2," she held up two fingers, waggling them in his face, before she flicked her wrist, suddenly slapping him so hard and so fast it made his head spin and his knees wobble. It took all he had to remain standing. He spat blood and a few teeth. The ringing in his ear didn't help much either.
She stood in front of him, hands on her pert hips. "The Quibbler is a quality resource that happens to be run by a very good friend of mine, so I won't allow a cankerous guttersnipe like yourself to disparage it in my presence, understood?" He could only nod his acquiescence emphatically.
She crossed her arms before him, her uncanny eyes bright with a chilling amber glow. "That brings me to Point 3, I'll have you know that I do not cast some snatcher into a starring role as the 'sole survivor' to be let go just so they can 'tell the tale'."
She rolled her eyes, before resting that eerily cold stare back upon him, "However, what I will do, from to time, is more like a catch and release of a sort, for certain types of prey, the kind of kine that looks like they will lead me to bigger, better game…"
Her eyes flashed in remembrance with primeval satisfaction, that bushy hair violently writhing with crackling static like a tempest of serpentine lightning. "…Which brings me to you."
She smiled, it was filled with dark promises he wanted nothing to do with. She cocked her head. "Now, this is how this is going to go. I have questions. You have answers. You see where I'm going with this?" She peered at him, her eyes now radiating an eerie golden crimson shine. She held the stare until he nodded back shakily.
She settled back, smile still in place. "Good." She casually conjured a chair for herself, taking out a Muggle notepad & pen. She left him standing The look in those eyes kept him pinned tightly to the pillar, unmoving.
She leaned forward primly. "Be warned; this is on you." Her entire manner disturbingly reminded him of McGonagall, except far more foreboding. "The easier you make this, the more forthcoming you are, the more inclined I am to be… merciful, once this is over."
Her smile was amicably uncanny, he almost rather she glare at him, it'd be less disturbing. "But if you try to play any too-clever games, to 'finesse' this in anyway…?
Those unsettling eyes caught his gaze, held it then flickered in the frightful direction of his good friend's rapidly cooling corpse, carelessly strewn across the landing like a broken marionette, serving as a disquieting reminder or perhaps a dire portent. Against himself, he still followed her look toward Collins' body and flinched, looking away, heaving.
She stilled, not making a sound, letting the unspoken message sink in. He looked toward her but deferentially avoided eye contact, he gulped, nodding furiously.
Her grin widened, eyes aglow pledging dread and misery. "Excellent." She leaned back, casually crossing her legs and clicked her pen. "Let us begin." She regarded him thoughtfully, "perhaps you can start with 'upstream'?"
Braithwaite almost hesitated, knowing what happened to rats, but the he looked at her again and just swallowed.
He started spilling any and everything he knew.
"Well," Hermione put her notebook away in her inner coat pocket before stood up with a preternatural grace, her conjured chair vanishing as if it never were. "You've satisfied all my curiosities and have been quite forthcoming, I will commend you for that."
She watched the Snatcher, Braithwaite, exhale in relief, seemingly to believe he was going to get to walk away. That she'd let him. That he'd survive to live another day, to kidnap, and rape and murder just for being honest for once. As if… She let the moment linger, then linger some more, letting the silence speak for her.
Hermione could see the moment when it dawned on him. When he looked up at her and he knew. She let her Other show in her eyes then. The sound of his heart racing was melodious. "But- but- you said… but I answered all- you said- that- that you'd let me go, like- like- like the prey who get away?" She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply; she could taste his rising panic on the breeze, so delightfully deserved. She heard his whimpers increasing.
Hermione scoffed, bemused . "Now when exactly did I say that?"
He shook, rattled, frantic "you- You said- you said- you'd be merciful?"
"Well, yes," Hermione paused as if reminding herself of something, a wry grin on her face. "Yes, I did say that, didn't I?"
She watched his panic lessen a bit, so she paused once more, as if pondering something. She could see his hope rising up once more. He smiled sheepishly at her, baring his belly like the jumped up prey playacting as a bully that he was.
Hermione's answering smile was initially warm and reassuring. "See, ordinarily, you'd be right. Ordinarily, I'd probably let you go with enough of a leash that I still could find you, and yours, later at my utmost convenience. Ordinarily, you might've even survived that next encounter too, especially with, shall we say, good behavior... Ordinarily."
Hermione's eyes darkened, her smile turned ravenous with malicious promise. "But, surely, you'd agree that death is a far more 'merciful' fate than what you and yours intended for that, how did you do poetically put it? Ah, yes. That 'posh half-muddy bird' in the back bedroom? That's it, Yes?" Her tone was mild but her look was anything but.
Hermione enjoyed watching him shiver as realization set in and his fate was sealed, his shakes becoming even more pronounced once she let her Other out in full.
He begged her silently, frantically, fruitlessly as she prowled toward him. He opened his mouth to scream as she closed in but it was already far too late for that.
It had been a long night after all, and she was a bit peckish besides.
Later, after a few overpowered cleaning spells, Hermione moved into the house proper. After hyper-tuning her senses while casting several classes of detection spells, she was able to confirm that the only signs of life existed in the aforementioned back bedroom.
Hermione moved to the various desks and tables first,
Organizing the parchment stacks into tidy bundles for Kingsley and his ilk to peruse. They've gained valuable intelligence in this way before.
She'd make a copy for herself, of course. It was only prudent, plus finders, keepers. She'd appreciate some new leads anyway. She was still looking for Him, after all. Both Him and the Other Him for that matter. Not a concern, really. She knew it was just a matter of time and details, especially regarding just how many bodies will need to drop between then and now to bring things to their inevitable close.
Hermione sighed, releasing that line of thought. Knew she was stalling, even knew why. Wasn't looking forward to going upstairs, dreading what she'd find, especially she was fresh out of justifiable targets at the moment.
Still, she steeled herself and moved toward the staircase. She'd been through this scenario too often.
Well, honestly, even just once was still one time too many.
Her only consolation is that none of the perpetrators of these particular bouts of egregiousness are still breathing the same air as her or their intended victims. Even if that means she might have been too gentle on some.
Hermione reached the back bedroom, placing a hand on the door. She halted at the doorway and Listened, carefully, thoughtfully. She could hear a muffled whimpering, a desperate keening that spoke of deep pain. Hermione sighed, grimacing.
She had hoped to free the girl and get her to safety before she had to wake up alone in this horror but apparently fate wasn't quite that kind.
Seems the victim had overcome their stunners already. She must be utterly terrified, dreading the horrible future those thugs had promised her. Hermione paused, considered her options, then gently knocked on the door.
"Um… Hello in there," Hermione heard the muffled sobbing stop, before intensifying, the poor girl's heartbeat was thundering in her chest. "Hey… hey. It's okay, the bad guys are gone, you're going to be all right, you're safe now."
Hermione tried to make her tone sound as non threatening and as reassuring as she could, hoping she wasn't making it worse. "Umm, you don't have to be afraid anymore. Um, my name is Hermione Granger, and I'm here to rescue you, okay?"
The heartbeat seemed to calm, the sobbing seemed to break up somewhat. The tone in the mumbled garble seemed to change as well, less scared and more hopeful, perhaps. Just from hearing her name, maybe? At least her name was good for something. "I'm going to come in now, so we can get you out of there, okay?"
Hermione heard more muffled sounds that she took for agreement. Shrugging, she twisted the knob, shattering both the lock and the minor locking spell on the door. She rolled her eyes as she entered the room. Yet another example of amateur hour at work.
She looked around only to gasp in shock. Tied up on the bed was her old classmate, Davis. Tracy Davis, a Slytherin. Not one of Pansy's thankfully.
She was scantily clad in a sheer nightgown while restrained in a horrid stress position by magical bindings that left her quite vulnerable to predation. Davis was a vivacious sort, for a Slytherin. Never heard her express any known bigotry, neither she nor her best friend Greengrass for that matter.
She didn't deserve this; no one did.
Hermione remembered that snatcher outside, how he called her a "half-muddy bird," how they were extorting her father as a result. She gritted her teeth; those snatchers were much luckier than they deserved, they had died too quickly. Far too quickly.
A simple finite dispelled the arrangement. Davis collapsed on the bed, crying tears of relief, mouthing endless thanks on repeat. Hermione sat down beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder, letting her feel she was no longer alone, that she was safe.
Davis lurched and hugged Hermione tightly, almost catching her off guard. Hermione stiffened, then slowly relaxed again. It has been awhile since anyone had willingly hugged her after all.
Hermione patted Davis on the back. "Davis, it's okay. You're safe now. It's okay. You're safe, now. I promise." She only cried harder, held on tighter. Words were beyond her, but Davis's thankful gratitude was conveyed with crystal clarity.
Hermione gulped in her throat, only imagining what this poor girl had endured before Hermione reached her, saved her.
Her eyes shimmered with an irradiated diabolical glow. Yes, far, far, too quickly, indeed.
She'll definitely have to make up for that once she starts her move Upstream.